Internal Affairs
by AlkalineTeegan
Summary: Set pre-series. Something is bothering Gibbs' new agent, but will DiNozzo be the one case Gibbs can't crack? Warnings for disturbing images/themes.
1. Chapter 1

It was late and he should have been home, grinding away the tension of the week with long, sure strokes of sandpaper against wood, a mug of bourbon never more than an arms-length away.

But there was paperwork to do, and since his current team consisted of only himself and DiNozzo, he figured he should spend his anxious energy getting a head start on it so they wouldn't be buried come Monday.

He smiled a bit, remembering the shock on Tony's face when he had declined the former cop's offer to stay and help. Gibbs knew he had made the right decision when Tony had nodded his goodbye—over an hour later—and Gibbs had seen the haunted quality to his green eyes.

It had been there, subtly of course because Gibbs was learning that his new agent rarely showed anything real, for a few days now, and Gibbs figured it wasn't too soft of him to give the kid a break after a hellish month. A month that had started with a suicide, a murder, dragged a bit through the middle with some drug busts and ended with them pulling a four-year-old's body from a Marine's backyard that afternoon. The staff sergeant's wife had confessed immediately, her eyes shining brightly with whatever madness had led her to kill her own child.

Yeah, it had been a hell of a month.

Even the routine notification to a father of his eighteen-year-old son's death in a training accident at Parris Island hadn't been routine. Leaving the man's city apartment, Tony had spotted a carjacking in process and taken off after the suspect like a man possessed. When Gibbs drove up after following the nearly mile-long chase, he had had to pull a furious DiNozzo off the bleeding suspect.

Gibbs figured the guy had resisted.

He didn't ask.

Because Gibbs also figured any man who would toss a pregnant woman out of a car and make to drive away with her screaming toddler in the backseat deserved a little rough justice.

Even if his agent had broken a finger … subduing … him.

The stark whiteness of the tape securing that finger to its tanned neighbor wasn't what made Gibbs stop short as he returned from a coffee run on this late Friday night—it was that DiNozzo was even back here at all.

_I _did_ tell him to go home, right? _

Tony didn't seem to hear the ding of the elevator signaling Gibbs' arrival, and the lead agent used the opportunity to study his new partner in a moment of total unguardedness.

DiNozzo was slumped sideways in his chair, his long legs propped up on the corner of his desk as he stared out of the large windows of the squad room. The young agent didn't speak or move, and Gibbs crept close enough to see the swelling and greenish-purple bruising giving away the damage to his finger that DiNozzo had mostly ignored. Gibbs thought back to Tony's embarrassment at Ducky's fussing and realized Tony hadn't mentioned it since, even though he had been the one schlepping all the equipment as they went about their heartbreaking task that afternoon.

_Kid woulda made a good Marine_, Gibbs thought. _Except that an elephant could sneak up on him. _

"Hey, Gibbs," Tony said softly, making Gibbs grin and mentally eat his words. "Thought you'd left for the night," he added, a bit guiltily.

"Thought I told you to go home," Gibbs returned, moving around and getting a good look at Tony's haunted eyes, twin pools of pain amid an otherwise cheerful countenance.

"I figured I could get started on this paperwork so we won't be buried come Monday," Tony said, watching Gibbs study him. Something changed subtly in his expression and he pasted on a mock-pout. "And my date cancelled last-minute so…"

_Nice try, DiNozzo_, Gibbs thought, unnerved that Tony had spoken almost his exact thoughts. He just nodded and moved to his own desk to get started again. He divided his attention between the reports and his agent, who had swung his legs off the desk and was staring at his computer screen. Gibbs would have bet his monthly alimony costs that the screen was as blank as his young partner's eyes, but he didn't say anything.

He wondered which of their recent cases was bothering the agent, but he didn't ask. Knowing Tony's mouth, he would probably start talking sooner rather than later.

Turns out it was later, much later—like two hours later—and Gibbs was glad. He was ready to go home, but damned if he would leave first, even though DiNozzo had been alternately typing awkwardly around his broken finger and staring blankly out of the large windows into the hazy, humid summer night.

"Can I ask you something?" Tony finally said, fiddling with his phone cord and not really looking at his boss.

"You just did," Gibbs replied, watching Tony look up suddenly, as if startled.

DiNozzo smiled tightly before turning back to his monitor. "Never mind."

Gibbs turned back to his own work, wondering why being such a bastard came so easily to him. The kid obviously had something weighing on his mind. Would it really be so bad to ask him what it was and let him talk it out? Gibbs knew that beneath all the showboating and false bravado, he had found the real deal in DiNozzo. It would be a shame to lose all that potential to burn-out—or his own stubborn gruffness.

Gibbs shut down his computer and moved across the room, leaning on the empty desk opposite Tony's. _Should probably find another one, _he thought. _So I can stop running him so ragged, _he added silently, noting the darkness under his agent's eyes. Gibbs snuck a glance at his watch, wondering if DiNozzo was going to ignore him.

"It's just after midnight, Gibbs," Tony said, not looking up from the file on his desk. "You don't have to stay."

Gibbs bit down on a smile at that. He summoned patience usually reserved for Abby and asked, "So what's on your mind, DiNozzo?"

Tony looked up, confused for a moment before lifting a shoulder with a slight tightening around his mouth that made Gibbs kick himself for not checking the agent for injuries he couldn't see along with the damaged finger he could see. He had noticed DiNozzo moving a bit more slowly than usual earlier, but at the time, he had chalked it up to exhaustion—or being in no hurry to photograph a child's dead body in such excruciating detail.

"It was nothing," Tony said, going back to the file. He continued when Gibbs' shadow stayed across his desk. "Don't worry about it, Gibbs. It's late. Go home."

"You giving the orders now?" Gibbs asked, more sharply than he had intended. He reached again for that elusive patience. "What were you going to ask me?"

Gibbs watched Tony remove the glasses he knew the kid didn't need and rub a careful hand over his face. He was about to give up when Tony finally spoke, his voice quiet and contemplative.

"Do you ever think it's odd to work for an agency that investigates crimes committed by people who are supposed to be protecting the country?"

Gibbs blinked. This certainly wasn't what he was expecting. He figured that's what he got for trying to anticipate Tony in the first place. "We investigate crimes _against_ them, too," he said, trying not to think about the Marine struggling to hold it together as a stone-faced Tony had cuffed his wife for the murder of their son.

Tony nodded slowly. "Yeah. Good point," he said, turning off the computer and standing so carefully Gibbs almost dragged him downstairs and called Ducky. "I'm gonna go now," he said, almost sounding as if he was asking for permission. As if it wasn't after midnight on a Saturday morning.

_Yeah, definitely need to keep this one_, Gibbs thought, nodding and watching Tony juggle his keys, wallet and phone in one hand while grabbing his jacket with the other.

_Just do it, Jethro. _

"You wanna have a drink?"

Tony stopped in his tracks, and Gibbs realized he had seen the agent look less wary facing down armed suspects. Gibbs watched him mentally scramble for a moment, thinking he was probably wondering if this was a test of some sort.

"It's just a drink, Tony," he said, watching Tony wince and knowing it was not from the keys dangling from his damaged hand but from Gibbs' rare use of his first name. "Not asking you to marry me."

Tony grinned uneasily. "Okay," he finally agreed. "Meet you at …?"

"My basement."

Tony just looked confused. "Never heard of it," he said, not sure if he was joking—or if Gibbs was.

"As in the bottom floor of my house?" Gibbs offered, punching the elevator button and watching Tony try not to squirm.

"What's wrong with a bar?" Tony asked, making Gibbs wonder if it was being in his boss's home that was bothering him or if it was the lack of neutral ground.

"What's wrong with my basement?" Gibbs returned, trying not to smile at the chagrin on Tony's face.

"Nothing, I—"

"Relax, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, letting the smile out of its cage. "Just don't see the point in spending good money on something I've got a perfectly good bottle of at home."

Tony nodded, still looking wary.

Gibbs gave him the address and they parted ways. As Gibbs settled behind the wheel, he wondered how long—and how much alcohol—it would take to figure out which case had DiNozzo so unsettled. As he drove, he mentally reviewed his agent's personnel file. There were no suicides of close family members, only his mother's accidental death, so he figured that was out. Gibbs doubted it was any of the drug cases, considering Tony had worked narcotics in Baltimore. Tony hadn't mentioned his injuries from the carjacker, much less the case, so that probably wasn't it. The young recruit's death was tragic, but it too had been accidental and nonviolent.

Of course, the mother murdering her child was horrifying enough without having any personal connection, but Gibbs had seen the haunted pain in DiNozzo's eyes days ago, before they even knew they would be spending the morning digging a child from his own sandbox.

In short, Gibbs had no idea what was bothering his agent, but he knew he had to find out.

* * *

**A/N: **This will likely be only a few chapters long. I know, shame on me for posting before it's finished! Anyone want to take a crack at which case is causing Tony's unrest?


	2. Chapter 2

Gibbs watched Tony pull into his driveway and he paid close attention to the way his agent moved as he unfolded his tall frame from the low-slung Corvette. A slight wince was all he noticed, and it made him wonder if the injuries weren't too severe or if DiNozzo just had a good poker face.

Thoughts about his physical condition were erased as Gibbs watched from the shadows of his wide, covered front porch as Tony drew up to a stop in front of the modest two-story home. Gibbs' background checks were notoriously thorough and he knew Tony had grown up in a very large house with a whole lot of money, and he suddenly found himself curious about what that upbringing had been like.

He continued to study the agent unseen, and he wasn't entirely surprised when a hint of wistfulness passed through the green eyes as they landed on the twin rocking chairs on the porch.

Gibbs knew money didn't always equal happiness.

And he was glad suddenly—for more reasons than one—that he had long ago stowed away the small rocking chair he had lovingly built for Kelly. A shrink would probably have a field day with why he kept both his and Shannon's on the porch, but mostly it was for practicality. Gibbs didn't have many houseguests, but when he did, he liked having the option of keeping them outside of the house without seeming blatantly rude.

"You have a really nice home, Gibbs."

Only the ex-Marine's substantial training kept him from jumping at the soft voice that carried through the darkness. It made him realize he should probably stop underestimating DiNozzo.

"Thanks," Gibbs said, watching Tony's left arm tighten fractionally against his side as the young agent made his way up the steps. "Nice car you've got there."

Tony's smile was genuine, but he turned at the top of the stairs, his eyes landing on the Corvette as if he expected it to have vanished.

"Thanks."

Gibbs did some mental math and asked, "Sitting in the driveway on your sixteenth with a big red bow?"

The look that flicked through the green eyes staring back at him was some combination of tired amusement and something much, much darker, and Gibbs remembered a note in DiNozzo's file about his being sent off to military school at the rather young age of twelve.

But all Tony said was, "Not exactly."

Gibbs decided to leave the cryptic statement, sensing Tony didn't want to elaborate, and he turned and opened the front door. "Come on in," he said, realizing that he hadn't played host in a long while and hoping he remembered how to do it. But then again, he also knew Tony was used to his sour moods and gruff demeanor. It just might not be the best way to figure out the mystery of what was dampening Tony's usually ebullient manner.

Watching Tony look around the home with guarded curiosity, Gibbs began thinking maybe this wasn't the greatest of ideas.

Maybe whatever ghosts had been haunting Tony's eyes should be allowed to stay in the shadows.

Gibbs wasn't sure DiNozzo would appreciate Gibbs' poking around in what had to be old wounds.

"Pass inspection?" Gibbs asked, almost wincing when his tone was nowhere near as mild as he had aimed for it to be.

Tony's forehead creased slightly. "I like it," he said honestly. "But do you? I've never met a cop who didn't lock his front door."

"Not a cop," Gibbs said, wondering how many locks Tony had on his front door. He was guessing it was a lot.

Tony lifted a shoulder—much more gingerly than he was probably aware. "Still law enforcement. Still have to see the many ways people come up with to kill or maim each other," he said, some dark and murky emotion floating through his green gaze. "Even if not everything we do is investigating crimes."

That had Gibbs thinking about the day of the carjacking again, which had started with the death notification. It hadn't been their first, but it was the first time Gibbs had let his young partner do most of the talking to see how he handled it. He had been only slightly surprised when DiNozzo had shown an incredible depth of sympathy without being overly saccharine. In fact, the whole notification had been one of his quickest, and he decided he would let Tony take the reins on them more often.

Of course, it had turned out to be anything but routine when DiNozzo's sharp eyes had picked out the carjacker throwing the pregnant woman to the dirty street several blocks away. Gibbs frowned just thinking about the way Tony had been so enraged that he hadn't even noticed his finger jutting out at an unnatural angle until Gibbs had nodded at it.

__

"Think you might have broken that," Gibbs said, his lips twisting in a wry half-smile.

"Huh?" Tony said, shaking his head and clearing the slightly stunned look off his face as he looked from the bleeding suspect to his damaged hand. "Oh."

Gibbs pushed the suspect into the back of the car, and then turned back, saying, "I can straighten it for you if you want."

"No need," Tony said, his face perfectly blank as he grasped the digit and gave it a hard yank. His sharp intake of breath was the only indication of how badly that must have hurt. "It's straight."

Gibbs just nodded, muttering "It is now" and remembering that DiNozzo had played football and basketball and figuring he was no stranger to broken fingers. Still, a small part of him was impressed with the agent's stoicism—especially considering he had seen a secretary fawning all over a theatrically grimacing Tony as she applied a band-aid to a paper cut just a few days earlier. He figured it had more to do with the kiss and the wink than anything else, and Gibbs filed away the reactions to both injuries for future reference.

With that in mind now, Gibbs smiled slightly, trying to guess what Tony's reaction would be if he ordered the agent to take off his shirt so Gibbs could see the extent of the damage inflicted by the carjacking dirtbag. He figured it would include a wink and a joking comment about sexual harassment in the workplace, and he tried to think of a less direct approach.

"Basement," Gibbs said, nodding to the closed door just off the kitchen. He didn't miss the wariness returning to Tony's eyes, but the former cop just followed him silently down the stairs.

Gibbs counted silently in his head, crossing the dusty floor and turning just in time to see Tony shake off the shock and open his mouth.

"That's a boat."

"Nice observation, DiNozzo."

Tony shook himself again, likely unaware of the grimace of pain that accompanied the movement. A slight blush rose across his cheeks. "Uh, that's a nice boat?"

Gibbs smiled, remembering his agent was now technically a guest in his home, and he should try to be nice. Or at least civil.

"Not yet," Gibbs said, running a hand along a wooden rib. "But it will be."

"The chairs on the porch? You made those too?" Tony asked, but it didn't really sound like a question.

Gibbs nodded, swallowing hard at the thought of the smallest chair, tucked away in storage. He saw Tony looking at him, the intensity in the green eyes reminding Gibbs of why he had hired this sharp young man—and making Gibbs worry irrationally that Tony had somehow heard his painful thoughts.

But Tony just smiled. "That's neat to have a skill like that."

Gibbs lifted a shoulder. "It's just a hobby."

Tony shook his head, saying, "You can't sail away on any of my hobbies."

Gibbs leaned into the boat, ducking his head to hide his smile at that. "Which are?" he asked, hoping the answer would shed some light on his agent's distress of late—or at least maybe just on the guarded young agent himself.

Tony didn't answer, and Gibbs glanced over his shoulder and saw that he seemed confused by the question. "Which are what?" he asked, sinking down onto the step.

"Your hobbies, Tony. What are they?"

Gibbs wasn't sure whether or not he was glad he was looking right at Tony when he asked that. The smile that warmed Tony's face reached up into his eyes and lit them like a backlight. Gibbs knew in that moment that Tony was overjoyed that Gibbs seemed genuinely interested in him, but it also made Gibbs question the sincerity of every other smile he had seen cross that face. It made him do something he rarely did: question his people-reading skills.

"I like sports," Tony said.

Gibbs was expecting a longer answer and he realized that of the many incarnations of Tony's personality he had seen, he had never seen the man this quiet—or still. He mentally kicked himself again for not asking Ducky to look the agent over more closely for injuries.

Realizing too that this conversation wasn't going to be carried by Tony—as he had fully expected—Gibbs asked, "Watching or playing?"

"Both. I play pickup basketball games at least once a week. Some flag football sometimes. And I played some in college."

Gibbs turned at that, raising a silver eyebrow. "I have your records, DiNozzo," he said, watching Tony flinch slightly at his tone. He softened it a bit. "You played for one of the best college football programs in the country. Don't shortchange yourself."

He watched Tony smile, a bit shakily, he noticed. "Is that a rule? I feel like I should be writing them down."

Gibbs rolled his eyes. "Better if you memorize them." He saw Tony nod. "And it isn't one."

"An order then?" Tony asked.

Gibbs frowned slightly, wondering if Tony thought those were the only options. "More like a guideline."

Tony just nodded, and Gibbs noted the way he was kneading his hands together, fingers alternately ghosting over each other and grinding into his knuckles, his palms, the base of his thumb.

"Hand hurt?" Gibbs asked, instinctively concentrating more on the boat than the subject of his question.

"Huh? Oh, no, it's fine."

Gibbs glanced over his shoulder. "The angle it was sticking out at the other day says otherwise."

"Not the first finger I've broken," Tony said dismissively. "Doubt it will be the last."

Gibbs decided to give it up—and realized that the rest of Tony's injuries would likely remain a mystery. Even if Gibbs asked directly, he was sure he would get evasions, if not outright lies, in response. If he was still moving stiffly on Monday, Gibbs would just ask Ducky to take a look at him.

Gibbs watched Tony cover a yawn and thought, _Time to speed this up. _

He grabbed the closest jar of nails and dumped it onto the workbench with a clatter. He saw Tony watching him curiously as he poured a generous amount of bourbon into the container. He was surprised when he reached for another jar and Tony's voice stopped him.

"None for me, thanks."

Gibbs looked at the jar of nails in his hand. "You want an actual glass?"

Tony shook his head. "It's not that," he said, pausing, a faint look of discomfort crossing his face. "I just don't drink much."

Gibbs felt something flicker in his gut as he set down the jar of nails of picked up the one half-filled with amber liquid. "You have a problem with alcohol, DiNozzo?"

He knew the harsh question had caught Tony off-guard and the young agent looked puzzled for a second before saying, "Me? Oh, no."

Gibbs waited, glad Tony was smart enough to know that wasn't enough of an answer. He could practically _see_ DiNozzo thinking, and Gibbs knew whatever answer he got wouldn't be the entire truth, if it was even truthful at all. But still he waited, knowing even the lie would be telling, depending on its content.

"Seen a lot of cops have issues with the bottle," Tony said. "Don't want to be one of them."

Gibbs nodded, allowing the half-truth to suffice. The interrogator in him wanted to ask about Tony's family, knowing old money and booze tended to go hand in hand. But Gibbs knew his new agent well enough to know that a direct, personal question like that would make the young man run for the door.

"Thanks for the offer, though," Tony said, flicking a glance at the bottle. "What's that? Elijah Craig eighteen-year-old? Stuff's not cheap."

Gibbs gave him a smile, raising an eyebrow. "You know your bourbons?"

Tony smiled, but Gibbs, having seen the real thing earlier, wasn't fooled. "My dad took me along the Kentucky bourbon trail one summer when I was a kid."

Gibbs pulled a face. "Strange vacation to take a child on. How old were you?"

"Nine," Tony said, suddenly looking like he was sorry for having brought it up.

"He let you have any fun?" Gibbs asked, knowing he was toeing a line but needing to know why DiNozzo looked so unsettled. He told himself it was just gathering data to solve his current mystery.

"I liked the aging warehouses," Tony said, giving a smile that was so complicated that Gibbs didn't even try to determine its genuineness—or its origin. "I don't know if it was because they were cool when it was a thousand degrees outside or if it was the smell of them, but it seemed peaceful. And a little strange, knowing some of the bourbon had been just sitting in those big oak barrels longer than I had been alive."

Gibbs smiled, not really surprised that Tony had had such an awareness at that young of an age. He suddenly remembered Tony's mother had died around that time, and he felt a flash of annoyance at the man who had dragged a grieving child along for such an inappropriate trip. His tone was unsurprisingly sharper than necessary when he said, "Not what I asked."

Tony blinked, obviously trying to remember the question. Gibbs felt his annoyance turn against himself. They had both had a long, trying day, and maybe now wasn't the best time to be asking such personal questions. Gibbs felt like even more of a bastard as he admitted to himself that he was using Tony's exhaustion to make it easier to figure out what was bothering him.

Tony shrugged, his hand right moving from his bent knees to rest gently against his left side. "The hotel had a pool. As a kid, that was enough for me."

Gibbs nodded, thinking it probably hadn't been enough, but not saying anything to the contrary. Mostly he was wondering if he should call DiNozzo out on hiding from him what were likely injured ribs. Personal issues aside, Gibbs was senior and needed to know if his agent was hurt in any way that could affect his being able to do the job. "Surprised you didn't have one at home," he said without thinking, his thoughts elsewhere.

Tony's eyes darkened immediately, and Gibbs could practically see the gates crashing down.

And he knew why.

The report of Tony's mother's accidental death flashed through Gibbs' head, and he kicked himself as he remembered the woman had drowned in the home. That report had said alcohol was not a factor, but the way Tony's eyes rested, slightly unfocused, on the drink in Gibbs' hand told the investigator much more than some report, too easily altered for the right amount of money.

Gibbs took a breath and broke his own rule.

"I'm sorry," he said, drawing a shocked—and somewhat wary—look from his agent. "I didn't mean to bring that up. Not after the day you've had."

He watched Tony blink, somewhat shocked himself that one minute his green eyes were filled with pain and the next it was completely gone, vanished like a half-seen apparition.

"Don't worry about it," Tony said, glancing up the stairs.

Gibbs saw the look and knew he couldn't let Tony leave now—not if he ever wanted to see the young man here again.

Gibbs was still thinking about how to keep him here when Tony continued, "You don't have to apologize. I know it's not your thing."

Gibbs just eyed him. "It's what people do," he said. "It's normal to apologize for the death of a loved one."

Tony just eyed him back, biting down on a smile. "No offense, Gibbs, but you're drinking insanely expensive bourbon out of a jar that recently held rusty nails… while building a boat… in your basement. That's not exactly normal."

Gibbs grinned. "Nails weren't rusty," he said, pausing. "But I'll give you the rest."

He turned, expecting to see Tony smiling back at him.

But all he saw was DiNozzo watching him with the same intensity Gibbs had seen only in the interrogation room. Gibbs just waited, holding that gaze even though it was slightly uncomfortable. It made him remember what Tony made so easy to forget: There was a lot going on under that seemingly casual exterior.

But Gibbs knew that.

It was part of why he had hired the young detective.

And Gibbs also knew what question would be coming.

But it still stood out starkly in the silent basement, the dust hanging thickly in the air under the bare bulbs.

"Why did you ask me here tonight?"


	3. Chapter 3

There were a thousand ways for Gibbs to answer that question.

Except one.

The truth.

He wondered why that was—why it was so hard to admit that he was worried about Tony and wanted to offer some sort of support, in whatever limited way he could. A part of him knew it was because he was already closer to Tony than he had ever been with any other agent. He knew that because of the flicker of fear he had felt watching Tony take off—moving far faster in a few strides than Gibbs had ever run—after an armed suspect who obviously had no problems hurting people.

Gibbs knew DiNozzo could handle the guy, and he had been proven right. But still he had felt a twinge of something, standing there looking at the unnatural bend in that finger, searching green eyes for pain because he had had similar injuries and knew those sorts of things tended to hurt.

But he had seen nothing in the cool gaze.

But he had seen a lot in the overly bright smiles that came after and the sheer volume of jokes as Ducky had poked, prodded and taped the finger.

It was classic misdirection, but it was also a little too close to lying for Gibbs. He liked honesty, straight and immediate answers from his agents, and DiNozzo was just a little too good at that misdirection.

"Gibbs?" Tony said, breaking into his thoughts.

And if Gibbs had been the kind of man to blush, he would have been redder than a bottle of Heinz.

Tony just continued, "Direct question deserves a direct answer."

Gibbs almost smiled. No other agent he had ever known would ever have said something like that to him. Silently he admired the kid's guts, but he just stared back steadily and asked, "How bad are your ribs?"

Gibbs had expected a smile, a joke, maybe a brush-off. So he was surprised when Tony lifted a shoulder—showing no signs of pain—and said, "Bruised but not broken." And then came the cheeky smile. "You should thank me for not invoking the 'I asked first' rule."

Gibbs just rolled his eyes, wondering what kind of furnace Tony had been fired in to mold him into someone this irrepressible. But Gibbs knew that steel was also born of fire, and he could see it in DiNozzo's eyes.

Tony was still waiting for an answer.

"I don't spend a lot of time thanking people, DiNozzo."

Tony just nodded. "I know." He waited patiently.

Gibbs turned on his best glare—and then he almost laughed. The air was charged with tension as Tony silently demanded an answer, but Gibbs didn't feel tense at all. He mostly felt like they were two kids on a playground challenging each other. Gibbs realized it had been a while—since Franks had retired, if he wanted to be honest with himself—since he had felt this comfortable with another agent.

"And I won't always answer all of your questions," Gibbs said, watching Tony closely for his reaction.

He saw a flicker of annoyance, then frustration, and then the smile was back.

"What if I say please?" Tony asked, grinning. "_Please_ tell me why you asked me here tonight?"

Gibbs felt the rest of the tension draining away. It reminded him of the case in Baltimore when things were going to hell, bodies were piling up, and leads were few and far between.

_Gibbs was furious. They had nothing. _

_And the infuriatingly cheerful detective he had been assigned was standing in front of him—after the kid had disappeared for an hour without a word—and was asking him if he wanted anything from Bill's Burger Barn. _

"_Come on, Agent Gibbs," DiNozzo said, that damned mega-watt grin firmly in place even in the face of Gibbs' obvious rage. Everyone around them was smart enough to give them a wide berth, but this kid was standing there about to take his lunch order while a serial killer carved up victims like Halloween pumpkins. "We'd better get moooooooo-vin'." _

_DiNozzo's laugh at his own joke was cut short by Gibbs grabbing him by the tie and shoving the young cop up against the nearest available wall. _

"_This sick bastard killed a Marine. And five other people," Gibbs growled into his face, his fist pressing against the detective's throat. "And you want to go to Bill's Burger Barn?"_

_The sentence had started out quietly and built until Gibbs was screaming in DiNozzo's face. But Tony just shrugged. "Thought you might want to catch that killer, was all. No biggie. I can bring him in myself. The only backup I need is the one strapped to my ankle."_

_Gibbs wanted to put his fist through the kid's smiling face. "What are you talking about?" he ground out, pressing harder against DiNozzo's windpipe. _

_Tony reached up slowly and removed Gibbs' hand from his wrinkled tie. "I know who the killer is. And since it's been so important to you that BPD share _everything_ with you on this case, I thought I'd let you know his name. And his place of employment since he's probably there now over at Bill's Burger Ba—"_

"_DiNozzo," Gibbs growled in warning. "Spit it out. And if the word 'burger' comes out of your mouth, I'll choke you with one."_

_Tony blinked in surprise and raised a hand to his throat theatrically. "I was going through the latest victim's car—"_

"_There are techs to do that," Gibbs interrupted angrily, wondering why the lead detective on the case was wasting his time when there was so much else to do. _

"_I know, but I like to be thorough. Anyway, I found a receipt from Bill's B—errr, Bill's fast food establishment, and I remembered having seen another one at another crime scene. I checked the evidence logs and found that a similar receipt had been found in the first victim's wallet. Not really that surprising, since Bill's—well, Bill's is really good. I mean, I might _ask_ you to choke me with a … sandwich if it comes from there because I can't even remember the last time I ate."_

"_Point, DiNozzo?" Gibbs warned, stepping closer and somewhat dismayed to find the detective standing his ground._

"_I checked the receipts and both came from the same store," DiNozzo continued, his tired eyes lighting up like the Vegas strip. "And the receipts list the cashier's name."_

_Gibbs read the look easily. Hell, a blind man could have read the cop's enthusiasm. "Same cashier?"_

_DiNozzo nodded. "Yeah. No others were found, but most people don't hang on to fast food receipts that long. Most people trash them."_

_DiNozzo was looking at Gibbs expectantly, like a puppy waiting to be petted for bringing the newspaper and dropping it at its master's feet. But Gibbs just shrugged. "The trash was searched and bagged and tagged at all of the victims' homes. And you said no other receipts. Two receipts from the same cashier doesn't make this guy a killer."_

_Tony was bouncing on his toes, and Gibbs wanted to find a newspaper to roll up and smack him with it. "Thought you said you don't believe in coincidences?" Tony asked innocently, raising his hands defensively at Gibbs' glare. He continued, still grinning. "I don't either. But courts do. Called reasonable doubt or something silly like that. So I wanted to find another receipt. So I went through the fifth victim's trash down in evidence, figuring it was the most recent and therefore most likely to still be in there."_

_Gibbs gave Tony a look, complete with a raised eyebrow. "You've been down digging through trash for the last hour? Trash that someone has already gone through?"_

_Tony looked down at his rumpled, smelly clothes, and Gibbs followed his gaze. He cut himself some slack for not noticing because DiNozzo hadn't been home since the fifth body—the Marine—had shown up, and the detective had been living on candy bars and soda, catching catnaps in Gibbs' hotel room, and wearing the same two sets of clothes for days. _

"_Never believe what you're told. Always double check," Tony said, grinning like a maniac. "I think that's one of _your_ rules, Agent Gibbs."_

"_Number three," Gibbs muttered, draining his coffee and tossing the empty cup in the garbage. _

"_I found another receipt. Same store, same cashier. And remember that crosshatched scar Abby enhanced from the surveillance tape from the last body drop, but we couldn't figure out what it was? It's from the basket of the fryer at Bill's. I called the store, pretended I was from OSHA, and asked about on-the-job injuries. A cashier was badly burned about six months ago. Name matches the receipts. We got him, Gibbs."_

_While Gibbs took all that in, Tony continued. "So. You wanna head to Bill's Buuuuurrrgggeerrr Barn with me? We can ride together. Or you can 'meat' me over there," he added, still grinning cheekily, giving finger quotes and everything. _

_The entire room held its breath, waiting for Gibbs' reply—or explosion. _

_Gibbs just put his head back and laughed for the first time in days. _

That memory, especially of Tony practically bubbling despite his exhaustion, made Gibbs realize just how subdued his agent had been of late. DiNozzo had given him a straight answer about his ribs, so Gibbs decided he did deserve one in return.

"Haven't liked the faraway look in your eyes lately," Gibbs said, his concern making his tone hard.

And Tony totally misread it—because he hadn't had time yet to recognize the tone for what it really was. "Gibbs," DiNozzo said seriously, leaning forward from where he sat on the step. "I am completely focused on the job, totally committed to being here."

Gibbs thought back to all the expiration date jokes back in Baltimore and gave Tony a sympathetic smile. "I know that."

DiNozzo looked up sharply. "You know…? Oh."

"Yeah," Gibbs said. "Oh."

Tony winced. "It shows?" he asked, looking up at his boss from under his lashes. His cheeks were tinged with pink.

"Yeah, it shows," Gibbs said, unwilling to admit he had no idea _what_ it was that was showing.

"It just sucks, you know? It's like his life didn't even matter."

Gibbs turned from the boat just in time to see Tony stand and stretch carefully. He watched the agent flinch at the pain and curl his left arm around his side again, and something clicked in Gibbs' head. He set the jar of bourbon down so hard the amber liquid sloshed violently around inside.

"Goddammit, DiNozzo," Gibbs said, watching Tony sink back down onto the step and slowly draw his knees up in a defensive position. "You said 'bruised but not broken' but which of your medical degrees told you that? Ducky didn't take x-rays of anything but your hand, and I know damned well you didn't go to a hospital on your own."

Tony had the grace to look sheepish. "I know what broken ribs feel like."

Gibbs, for all his curiosity, suddenly didn't want to know how Tony knew that. He decided to leave it—for now—and he tried to remember what Tony had said before Gibbs' outburst.

"Whose life didn't matter?" Gibbs asked, forcing his tone softer and setting down the tool he had been holding.

Because he was looking directly at Tony, he saw the moment understanding dawned.

Tony's lips twisted in a humorless smile. "So you know the what but not the why?" he asked, his eyes narrowing. "You investigating me, Gibbs? I've gone a couple rounds with IAB before, but none of them ever brought me into a basement and offered me eighteen-year-old bourbon. I've got to say, this is an interesting tactic, Boss."

Gibbs couldn't figure out why DiNozzo would be so angry, why he would accuse his boss of investigating him—until he realized that's exactly what he was doing. Gibbs had seen the pain in his agent's eyes and could have asked him straight out what was bothering him. But instead, he had extended an invitation he knew Tony wouldn't refuse, brought him here to decidedly un-neutral ground, and tried to ply him with alcohol to get him to talk. Instead of just asking him to talk.

No wonder he'd been married so many times.

Gibbs hoped it wasn't too late for straight talk.

But judging by the way DiNozzo was hauling himself to his feet, Gibbs figured it just might be too late. He stepped toward the agent, wondering if he was going to actually have to apologize.

He never got the chance.

The second Tony stood up, his eyes rolled back in his head and he passed out cold.


	4. Chapter 4

Gibbs was lucky he was standing close enough—and could still move quick enough—to get an arm around Tony's waist and pull the limp body against his as they both sank to the floor.

Tony was lucky, too, because otherwise his head would likely have hit either the step or the concrete floor.

Gibbs' blue eyes were pools of worry as he laid the young man out on the dusty floor, his hand under the back of Tony's head as he eased him down. Gibbs frowned tightly as his fingers contacted a hard knot of swelling at the back of his skull, and he grabbed a shirt he kept handy for the cold nights and tucked it under Tony's head. He slid DiNozzo's pullover shirt up his chest and sighed at the livid bruising splattered like spilled red wine over his left side.

Gibbs put gentle hands on Tony's ribs and felt a rush of relief when he felt both lungs inflate with each soft breath. At least he wasn't dealing with a punctured lung.

Which left the head injury—making Gibbs' short-lived relief evaporate immediately, and he reached into his pocket to pull out his cell to call for an ambulance. Gibbs almost jumped when a hand reached up and snaked around his wrist mid-dial.

He looked down to find a pair of tired, slightly unfocused green eyes staring up at him from the floor.

"Don't, please. 'M okay," Tony said as he tried to sit up.

Gibbs heard the slight slur in the words and put a firm hand on DiNozzo's shoulder, holding him down. "Stay put, DiNozzo. You are not okay. You just passed out."

"DiNozzos do not pass out," Tony said, and Gibbs had the feeling it was something the former detective had said many times—or heard many times.

Gibbs snorted. "So you just fell asleep on my basement floor?"

Tony gave him a poor imitation of his usual mega-watt grin. "I'm sure you have before."

Gibbs tried not to smile. "It's my floor."

"Please, Gibbs?" Tony asked again, sounding exhausted.

Gibbs didn't pretend to misunderstand him. "I won't call an ambulance," he said.

"Not Ducky either? Please?"

Gibbs wasn't sure he had ever heard DiNozzo say please this many times at once—or ever.

"Gibbs? He'll just give me a really long lecture about taking better care of myself, and I can't handle that right now," Tony said honestly, and then he seemed to realize it. "My head really hurts."

Gibbs was thinking about the lump he had felt. "I bet it does. How long have you had the headache?"

"Since that guy kicked me in the ribs and slammed my head into the pavement."

Tony blinked in shock at the failure of his usually impeccable brain/mouth barrier, but Gibbs just raised an eyebrow.

"Ducky should give you a lecture. Why didn't you tell one of us he hurt you that bad?"

Tony squirmed, fighting the gentle hold Gibbs had on him. "Can you let me up, please? It isn't fair to have this conversation with me flat on my back. I need every advantage I can get when I'm around you."

Again came the surprise at his own words. Gibbs just frowned as he slid an arm under DiNozzo's shoulders and helped him sit up. Tony's hands went immediately to his temples and he looked like he was going to be sick. He swallowed hard. " 'S jus' a concussion," he slurred weakly.

Gibbs eyed him. "You hit your head a lot, DiNozzo?"

"Yep."

Gibbs wasn't sure if Tony was getting his discretion back or if he was just keeping it short so he wouldn't say something he would regret.

"You gonna puke on me?" Gibbs asked, watching one of Tony's hands move to his belly.

"I'd puke on myself first, Gibbs. You're kinda scary when you get mad."

Gibbs bit down on a smile and figured he had his answer. The smile faded as he took in Tony's pale face and clammy skin. "Come on," he said, getting to his knees and ignoring their crackling protests.

Tony made some sound that was a curious hybrid of whimper and frustrated growl.

Gibbs huffed out a breath. "I won't call Ducky," he said, feeling Tony breathe a sigh of pure relief. "But I am taking you to the hospital. No buts, DiNozzo."

"But—"

"You're going to be a piece of work, aren't you?" Gibbs said wryly.

"Gibbs, I'm fine," Tony protested again, struggling against Gibbs' firm hands.

"You just lost consciousness. You are not fine. You are going to the ER," Gibbs said, his voice as firm as his grip. "Whether it's with me, or Ducky, or I'll call an ambulance and wave while they haul you away, you're going."

Tony fell instantly silent, and it would be a while before Gibbs would understand the unintentional cruelty in that last option.

But for right now, he was just glad DiNozzo was suddenly extremely compliant and he didn't spend too much time thinking about the reasons.

Gibbs pulled Tony to his feet, holding him steady as he swayed and feeling his agent's cheek burning with embarrassment against his neck as he gruffly told him to take his time. Getting up the stairs was an interesting endeavor considering Tony was actually slightly bigger than Gibbs. It was something Tony hadn't really noticed until being dragged bodily up narrow stairs by the man who was already larger than life in DiNozzo's eyes.

Gibbs pulled Tony's right arm over his shoulders and watched Tony's left arm cradle his aching ribs as they made their slow, weaving way to Gibbs' car. Gibbs didn't miss that DiNozzo's once-pale cheeks were now fiery red as he lowered the injured agent gently into the passenger seat, but he didn't mention it. He figured Tony was suffering enough already.

They were silent on the ride to the hospital, and Gibbs spent most of the time fighting the urge to use DiNozzo's sudden honesty to pry the answer to the mystery out of him. He found it odd that it had taken a nasty concussion to get straight answers out of DiNozzo, and Gibbs knew that it would be cruel to strip Tony of what appeared to be much-needed defenses. Gibbs knew he would be spending the next few years finding the balance in letting Tony hide and calling him out on his antics. If only there was a way to smack some sense into him when he needed to focus…

Tony spent the ride mostly trying not to throw up in Gibbs' car.

" 'S probably gonna be a long wait," Tony said as they pulled up to the ER waiting room. "You can drop me off and leave if you want."

Gibbs felt a stab of sympathy at the misery in Tony's voice and wondered if the young man knew he hadn't even come close to the nonchalant tone he had likely been striving for. Gibbs shoved the car into park a little harder than necessary and said, "You're an injured federal agent, DiNozzo. We won't be waiting long."

Gibbs helped an increasingly shaky DiNozzo into a wheelchair and glared at the security guard approaching them sheepishly to tell Gibbs he needed to move his car. Gibbs felt Tony's hand tighten unconsciously on his arm and the lead agent flipped his badge out and his keys at the man.

"Move it yourself. And leave my keys at the desk."

The man eyed the badge with contempt but nodded and did as he was told.

Gibbs was right, and they were seen quickly. Tony tried to evade the doctor's first question, but one glare from Gibbs, who was heeding some nagging instinct and had refused to leave his agent's side, had DiNozzo feeling suddenly honest again. Tony answered the questions he was asked directly, and Gibbs said nothing through the physical exam and x-rays, which confirmed Tony's diagnosis of bruised but not broken ribs.

Tony had showed a small sign of his old self as he grinned triumphantly at Gibbs at that, but otherwise he was mostly quiet and subdued. They were separated during the CT scan, and when Tony was brought back into the exam room to await the results, he could stay quiet no longer.

"You don't have to stay, Boss," Tony said, his arm wrapped around his aching side. He had given up the pretense of not being in pain a while back—sitting there in a hospital gown made that a pretty tough sell, even for him.

Before Gibbs could speak, Tony added, "I'm not going to sign myself out and run away."

Gibbs eyed him as if the thought had crossed his mind and he opened his mouth, but the doctor's return interrupted his statement.

DiNozzo indeed had a severe concussion and would be kept overnight—what little was left of it—for observation. That Tony's protests were easily batted down told Gibbs just how weak and exhausted his agent was feeling. Gibbs went on a coffee run, which would have been an odd thing for anyone but him to do in the wee hours of the morning, and then found Tony's room.

The young man was out cold and stayed that way for most of the night. He muttered groggily at the nurses through the concussion checks but got all of the answers right so they left quickly thereafter. Tony awoke once with panic in his eyes at not knowing where he was, and Gibbs didn't miss that his agent settled immediately upon seeing his boss slouched in a chair by his side. Neither of them spoke, but Gibbs felt like a lot was communicated in that moment.

Gibbs smiled in the darkness, both at the trust in Tony's eyes before he closed them and went right back to sleep and the knowledge that their connection would only get stronger the longer they worked together. It had been a while since Gibbs had taken on an agent and not spent most of the days trying to figure out how to get rid of them without drawing the wrath of HR.

Gibbs shifted in the uncomfortable chair, knowing he could be angry with his agent for not fully disclosing all of his injuries and ending up in the hospital. But Gibbs had broken his own rule and assumed the visible damage was the only damage, and he hadn't even bothered to ask DiNozzo if he was okay. Gibbs knew it was hypocritical to expect straight answers when he hadn't asked a direct question. It was something he would work on. Gibbs knew it took time to learn a new partner and he hoped he would have plenty of it to do just that with the young, full-of-potential DiNozzo.

Tony awoke to sunlight streaming through the windows later that morning, and Gibbs wasn't surprised that while he still looked tired, his eyes were clearer and brighter.

Gibbs was surprised slightly by the first words of his mouth.

"It was the notification."

Gibbs took a moment to think and then raised his eyebrows questioningly as he sipped the debauchery masquerading as coffee.

"You wanted to know what has been bothering me?" Tony said.

Gibbs couldn't blame him for making it sound like a question. Gibbs figured it was a testament to DiNozzo's skills as an investigator that he had figured that much out because it wasn't like Gibbs had been exactly direct.

Gibbs nodded, frowning. "The kid killed at Parris Island? It was an accident."

"I know," Tony said, raising his eyes from his knotted hands to Gibbs' face. "It was more his father's reaction to his death. Or I guess his non-reaction."

"It was like his life didn't matter," Gibbs said, repeating Tony's words from the night before. No wonder the notification had been quick. There had been no disbelief, no questions, no denials, no comforting a crying relative.

"Or his death," Tony said, biting his lip. He knew Gibbs could have—should have—left him last night and Tony had never woken up in a hospital to someone watching over him so he felt like he needed to give Gibbs something in return. "I was reading the recruit's file on the way over. He didn't even want to be in the military, but his father was a career officer and wouldn't even consider any other options for his kid. No matter what his son wanted."

Tony paused, closing his eyes for a moment and then shaking his head as if to clear it. He met Gibbs' patient blue gaze and continued. "I got sent to military school when I was twelve," he said, knowing Gibbs already knew that. He was feeling suddenly exhausted and exposed, and he hoped he wouldn't have to spell out the rest for Gibbs.

He should have known better.

Gibbs nodded, leaning forward and laying a gentle hand on the back of Tony's for just a second before leaning back and smiling slightly. "No wonder you beat the crap out of that dirtbag carjacker when he resisted."

Tony frowned, took a deep breath and winced at the stab of pain in his ribs. His voice was low when he said, "You never asked me about that. If he resisted."

Gibbs lifted a shoulder, returning Tony's gaze steadily. "Didn't need to."

Gibbs' eyes were speaking volumes about why that was—about the trust he had in his agent—even if he couldn't say the actual words, and DiNozzo unsurprisingly got the message loud and clear.

He smiled wryly. "I was also pissed about him being rough with a pregnant woman and trying to take off with her kid in the back."

Gibbs grinned back. "Hell, DiNozzo. I'd have kicked the shit out of him too for that, even if I wasn't pissed about sorry excuses for fathers." He let that sink in a bit before huffing a soft laugh. "If I could have caught him. I bet you were hell on wheels on the football field."

Tony's smile was the shyest Gibbs had ever seen from him—but it was also genuine. "I was all right."

Gibbs let the deflection go, deciding there was a time for straight questions and honest answers, but there was also value in allowing the minor misdirections his partner needed to feel safe. And there would be time later for firmly covering the need to be upfront about physical limitations on the job.

But right now, Tony needed to rest.

And Gibbs needed more coffee.

Gibbs got up and headed for the door, a look all that was needed to tell Tony he would be right back. He waited until Tony nodded sleepily and closed his eyes, settling in to get the rest he needed to heal.

Gibbs started to leave the room, wondering if he could sign off on the mystery that was Anthony DiNozzo and stamp "case closed" on the file.

"Boss?" Tony said, making Gibbs turn back. There was none of his earlier insecurity and the spark was back in his green eyes. "You should go find better coffee if you plan on hanging out with me all day. I doubt even you can keep choking that crap down, and you get kinda cranky without your caffeine."

Gibbs rolled his eyes, mentally putting away the "case closed" stamp.

He figured it would be more of an ongoing investigation.

* * *

**A/N: **The end. Thanks for reading and reviewing!


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